Title: Through The Plexiglass
Warnings: Crack. Fruitsalad.
Notes: Ars(e) Poetica #14. May/June 1998. 14-17 are numbered but not dated. By the content and numbers, I can place them approximately, but I make no claims to the accuracy of the dates. I know it is after May 14th, when Frank Sinatra died; it’s after Bonny Mad Charlie went missing — I have his parents names written in pencil a page or two before #14… And I can tell by the pen that 14-17 were all written on the same day. I’m calling it June 2. If you know me wrong, let me know.
This was written while I was having lunch in a pancake house that has long since been bulldozed to make way for a pharmacy. Line 8 is a reference to "Dogs Don’t Go Moo," a story I’ll tell later, when I start telling the Mythic History of the Wasteland.
I watch the world go by outide the glass
The cars go by, the women primp and preen
The sprinkler breaks and o’er-wets the grass
And gives the tree a damp and mossy sheen
The sky looks fake and almost painted in
Not one white cloud has marred its flawless blue
The sun is out, but I am here within
Contemplating whether dogs go "moo".
A sparrow cocks its tiny head at me
From out among the shrubbery and rocks
He tweets as if to say, "Just look at me!
I play while you sit in that windowed box!"
It’s nice outside, I should go out to play,
For even birds have mocked my choice, today